


wounded, into dormancy

by saintsurvivor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath, Ambiguous Relationships, Angel True Forms, Drabble, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Gen, Guilt, Hunt Gone Wrong, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sam Winchester and Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 00:05:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14964819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsurvivor/pseuds/saintsurvivor
Summary: “That you don’t remember how to live; that you haven’t been living for quite some time now,” Castiel says quietly. “That maybe with this…thing, you could learn to live again.”tumblr prompted; samcas + ghost/living au





	wounded, into dormancy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladyboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyboo/gifts).



> **Author's Note #1:** Hi! So, this is something that was prompted on my tumblr before i accidentally deleted, so I'm now moving this onto here, also because I needed angst and needed to get back into the writing groove.  
>  **Author's Note #2:** This is basically my love note to Castiel feeling guilty and Sam also feeling guilty and both of them trying so hard to help each other through it.  
>  **Author's Note #3:** Also, because i did a stupid, I deleted my tumblr accidentally, but you can now find me at [svstiels](http://svstiels.tumblr.com)

_ They stood alone / in even meadows _

**Rainer Maria Rilke** , from The Book of Images,  _ “The Singer Sings Before A Child of Princes” _

“I’m still so sorry, Sam,” Castiel says softly. He’s hunched over in the chair by the motel window, the small cracks in the glass allowing the curtain to move softly in the breeze. Castiel doesn’t seem to notice. Only sits with his head in his heads, refusing to look up.

“It wasn’t your fault, Cas,” Sam says softly, a barely there sound that he still can’t believe is him. He wants to place a hand onto Castiel’s shoulder, to press against him like Sam used to do. He can’t anymore. That, he thinks, hurts more than most things. “You tried all that you could.”

“And it wasn’t enough!” Castiel almost shouts, loud and echoing as he pushes himself away from the table. In his mild fury, the echoing of his True Voice has extended the cracks in the window, makes Sam flicker as he stands just next to Castiel. “Nothing’s ever enough.”

Sam watches, heavy hearted and longing, as Castiel slowly staggers back against the wall next to the window, sliding down the wall until he’s resting against it, knees pulled close so he can rest his elbows on them. He looks more human than Sam ever thought he could, ever thought Castiel  _ would _ look.

“I failed you, my love,” Castiel says softly and he rests his forehead against the cross of his forearms. His voice is thick, raspy with something Sam can’t quite begin to name. “I seem to keep failing you, over and over.”

“Castiel,” Sam says, and he moves until he’s knelt in front of Castiel, hovering his ghostly hand over Castiel’s shoulder. He never thought he would miss the small touches that he and Castiel used to give one another; before everything, it was always something that Sam had to brace himself for, had to make sure he could stomach it without vomiting. Funny sometimes, Sam thinks, how having that opportunity for touch taken away makes him rethink things, makes him long for things he never wanted before. “Castiel, you haven’t failed, I promise. You haven’t failed me, nor yourself. You’ve tried all you could, and for that, thank you, but-“

“There should be no need for “but”,” Castiel almost hisses, and his head rears back until he’s looking Sam dead in the eyes, electric gracelight seeping beneath his skin until he’s aglow with holiness. Everything seems so much brighter now, perhaps it’s because Sam has just gotten dimmer. “We need to fix this, Sam. I can just-“

Castiel’s voice breaks; splits in two with grief and Sam closes his eyes. He moves until he’s by Castiel’s side and usually he would be able to feel the heat of Castiel on his side, but now he can’t feel anything. He’s talking with Castiel, and somehow Sam is still so lonely.

“All I can think of is what the witch said about you.” Castiel confesses lowly, and he tips his head back until it rests against the wall, until he’s staring at the ceiling with damp eyes. Sam has never seen Castiel truly cry before. It seems like a dawning of a near era now that he has. It makes something splinter inside of Sam.  

There are common misconceptions about Angels, Sam knows. Has head it from Dean’s own mouth, from well meaning teases to allies to enemies; that Angels do not feel emotions. Maybe they don’t but maybe they don’t just feel the shallowness that is human emotions; Angels are Celestials, beings on a different wavelength than humans; of course they would feel everything so much more keenly.

“What did they say?” Sam asks. He can barely remember anything apart from trying to talk down the two witches, Josephina and Rolanda if he remembers correctly.

Castiel makes a choked off sound, as if he’s just swallowed down half of the words he wants to say. His shoulders shudder in an all to human way and Sam feels the chill in his ribs that he knows isn’t from his predicament.

“That you don’t remember how to live; that you haven’t been living for quite some time now,” Castiel says quietly, and Sam watches the bulge of his knuckles carefully, the way he grips his knees until the bones creak. “That maybe with this…. _thing_ , you could learn to live again.”

“We all know that’s wrong, Cas,” Sam tells him, watches the profile of his face as Castiel clenches his eyes shut, his jaw tightening until Sam can hear the soft grind of teeth. Castiel has become so enamoured with human physicality’s, Sam thinks privately. “We just need to convince them of that.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything for the longest time. He simply rests himself against the motel wall, the curtains slowly swaying in the wind coming from the window. He’s still not looking at Sam. Instead, he stares resolutely ahead, as if he trying to burn down the wall opposite them both. Sam still cannot touch him, still cannot even lay hands upon Castiel. Cannot press a hesitant hand to him, cannot move until they are pressed shoulder to hip.

In fact, Castiel doesn’t speak for so long that Sam thinks he has forgotten him, that Sam has simply faded from view in Castiel’s eyes.

Then, hoarsely; “The thing is, Sam,” Castiel begins. He turns his face, watches Sam with solemn eyes that makes the unneeded breath in Sam’s ghostly lungs catch in his chest. “I think they’re right.”

Sam doesn’t say a word, only moves until he is sitting ever closer to Castiel. He doesn’t want to say anything, only wishes he could press himself against Castiel and wish this had never happened.

“I’m sorry, Samuel.” Castiel whispers. He makes an aborted movement towards Sam’s hair, as if he wanted to move a strand of it. Sam feels heat flare in his chest, and has to bite his bottom lip and look away lest Castiel notices the transparency of his tears.

“Me too, Castiel,” Sam says, quietly. To Sam, that feels like it’s the only thing he truly does; apologise and keep apologising until it’s all static between his heart and his thoughts. “Me too.”

They sit there, both of them ghosts in their own right, silent and aching.

_ You show, in the middle of savage things _

_ The gentleness of your heart, that is so full _

_ Of pain and light. _

**Federico García Lorca** , from a letter to  _ Miguel Hernádez _ , wr. c. April 1933


End file.
